Days of Highs, Nights of Blood Re-Vamp
by MarikIshtar1223
Summary: Malik Ishtar is a chronic alcoholic when he falls into the underworld of Domino City due to a man who shouldn't abuse his body the way he does. [MalikxBakura-Thiefshipping]
1. Chapter 1: Blood Alcohol Content

Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh, it belongs to Kazuki Takahashi

Chapter One

Malik glared at the damn letter on the table. Yet another "polite" refusal from yet another publishing company, he was sick and tired of them. It was all the same, week after week, month after month, year after year. Yelling at no one in particular, he picked up a random lamp sitting in the corner of his run-down apartment, and hurled it at the wall, angry at the world, and how it had made him become who he was. Turning, he picked up a half-empty bottle of whiskey off the counter, glanced at the contents quickly, and poured himself a glass. He savored the numb feeling that only alcohol could give him. Downing one glass after another, Malik felt the whiskey taking hold of his body, drowning in the dumb happy feeling he got when he drank, which was becoming a common occurrence, nearly every day now.

Cursing underneath his breath when he emptied the bottle he stumbled around his apartment looking for something to else drink, often walking into walls, or the random pieces of furniture that he had thrown around when he was in one of his drunken rages. When he looked up he found himself in his bedroom, a pair of hazy purple eyes surrounded by sandy blonde hair staring back at him from the cracked mirror atop the dresser. Vaguely, he wondered how he had ended up this way. After all of his family had died, he had moved to America to have a better life, but ended up a drunken writer who couldn't get anything published. Of course this wasn't how his sister, Isis, had wanted him to become, but it's not like she, or his adopted brother Rishid were around to see how he had ended up. No, it was only him; alone for the rest of his life.

All of Malik's family had died when he was sixteen, so he had moved to Domino City, but having basically no money and no job credentials, not to mention being underage, he had been forced to do general labor for pitiful minimum wage. Malik had always used this as an excuse whenever someone would ask him why he was so drunk all the time, but in his heart; he knew he drank simply because he wanted to. The taste and the numb feeling of not being in control of your body, he loved and savored it. Malik was simply in love with drinking.

Sighing loudly, Malik groped for the television remote he figured was somewhere in the room, but instead of turning the TV on when he found it, he hurled it at the mirror, cracking it once more, altering his reflection into shattered pieces, which he figured probably reflected his soul. Cracked and miserable, that's what he was, a mere shell of what he once was, a sliver of his potential that he could've had. It's not like he was ugly, or fat, or even unintelligent, he was simply broken. Malik Ishtar had no idea what to do with his life anymore.

"Fuck….I might as well go do something today…." He moaned at the ceiling, having finally spoken aloud. Rousing slightly, he held his head in his hands. He was going to have one hell of a hangover the next day, unless he kept the stupor going for as long as he could. Getting up shakily, he walked slowly over to his closet and grabbed the same clothes that he always wore, black tank-top, ripped jeans, and his old leather jacket. He had worn some gold jewelry a long time ago, but living in the run-down neighborhood that he did, Malik had decided that it probably wasn't best to wear them in case they got stolen. They were the only connection he had left to his childhood, and even though he always needed money for more alcohol, he would never sell those; not in a million years.

Grabbing his keys after sliding his pitifully empty wallet into his back pocket, Malik left his apartment. He stuffed his hands into his pockets angrily, shivering at the cool autumn air that surrounded him as he walked. Normally Malik would've taken his motorcycle, but that was precious and expensive (at least to him), so he rarely took it out, except when he really needed to get somewhere quick, and when he wasn't that drunk. But right now, he just needed another drink, and he knew a pub nearby that would barely cost him anything. So Malik shuffled his feet to the south and started walking, staring at the ground as he went.

As he walked, Malik barely took any notice of the poverty and filth that surrounded him, having gotten used to it over the last nine years. Passing all the prostitutes and homeless bums that talked to him, he only stopped when he saw the neon sign for the bar called Dance. Pushing the door open, Malik walked in and sunk down at the stools at the front, signaling for the bartender to come over.

"Well, well, if it isn't Malik Ishtar. Haven't seen you in a while, so I automatically assumed you had drunk yourself to death." The bartender and closest thing he had to a friend in the city, Shadi, leaned over the counter and stared at Malik, scrutinizing his pale, unkempt figure. Shadi was in his early thirties and had also moved to Domino City from Egypt. He and Malik had met not long after Malik had moved to the states and had grown to friends, with Shadi helping Malik find a job and a place to live.

"Can it, Shadi. We both know that you come knocking on my door every other day just to check up on me." Malik took a long drink from the beer that Shadi had placed in front of him, glaring at the other Egyptian as angrily as he could in his state.

"Calm down, Malik. I just check up on you because you're twenty-five and drinking your life away. Wouldn't that worry you, if you were me?" Malik glared at the already half empty bottle and said in a low, angry tone "Not really, no, considering I'm already doing it, and I wouldn't worry about it 'if I were you'." His voice dripped with sarcasm on the last four words, spurring Shadi to turn around and check on other customers, knowing better than to deal with Malik when he was in one of his moods like that. Glaring at his beer bottle, that had somehow become empty, Malik walked around the counter to grab another one, earning him a stern glare from the other Egyptian.

"You know you're not supposed to be back here." Shadi said his face turned towards the wall, purposefully not looking at the younger man.

"Yeah, and you're not supposed to be invading my personal life. But we all seem to do things we're not supposed to do, don't we?" Malik laughed sarcastically at Shadi, his words and laughter slurring together slightly. Shadi knew that was a warning sign that Malik was about to get very violent and drunk. He could hold his liquor well, but when it started to affect him, it would affect him hard. Gently grabbing Malik by the arm, Shadi led him into the back room that he had specifically set up for the other man. When he was younger it had been a place for him to stay the night whenever he had troubles, but now it was a place for him to sleep when Malik was too drunk to do anything else.

Pulling him into the room, Shadi was surprised when Malik didn't fight back; usually he would yell and attack the other Egyptian, wanting something more to drink. Gently setting him down on the beat-up mattress in the room, Shadi sat next to Malik, watching his chest rise and fall, his eyes stare at the ceiling angrily, his fingers twitch every now and again. "What are you staring at, bartender?" Malik asked softly, his voice full of danger.

"What else do you think, Malik? I'm staring at you, of course." Shadi replied calmly. "I know you're mad at the world right now, but I really try to help you, and I wish you wouldn't push me away like this. If you keep doing this, you'll end up dying alone, drunk in your apartment, and I'd be really sad if that happened. So please, let me in a little. Take down that wall that you have surrounding yourself, and let me help, at least just a bit."

"Damn it, Shadi, you're either my fucking counselor, or you just want to get into my pants." Malik yelled at him, sick of Shadi's pity speeches, just wanting to be left alone. "I mean, that was one of the gayest things I've ever heard! Don't you realize that I just want to be left alone?! If you do, then do it right now and if you don't, then get the hell away from me!" Malik glared at Shadi with all of his might, his lavender eyes daring him to say anything more. Shadi sighed softly, and stood up, knowing when he was defeated. Flipping one of his dangling hoop earrings in annoyance, Shadi stood up and walked out of the room.

"I understand, Malik, I'll leave you alone, but if you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask. Just ring the buzzer over in the corner, and I'll be in as soon as I possibly can." He walked out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Malik laid down on his back, smirking slightly now that his 'caretaker' had left the room. Shadi had no idea that Malik had been taking liquor from the storefront and hiding it in the backroom, so whenever he would be put in there to be away from alcohol, Malik would just have some more for his personal enjoyment. Reaching under the mattress, he pulled out a loose floorboard he had discovered when he was younger, and pulled out a nearly full bottle of wine. Taking a huge swig from it, Malik savored the fruity, sickly-sweet flavor of the fermented liquid. He knew that it wasn't anything of good quality, but he didn't care about that. He only cared about being able to drink.

Sighing softly, Malik sat up looking at the flickering lonely light bulb, which in drunken rages, he had often thrown things at, but Shadi had made sure that nothing in the room was breakable or dangerous. Even if he hated it, Shadi did take good care of him, but Malik just wished that he wasn't so blatant about his homosexuality. Malik had nothing against gays; he just didn't want one in his life. Especially when Shadi could take advantage of him when he was so drunk he couldn't even remember his own last name (which had happened on one occasion).

Cursing the empty bottle, Malik reached for another, then another, then another. He was drinking a lot more than usual, but it's not like he cared. It was all to forget. He had drank for the first time when he was eighteen after one of the guys at his job had put a shot of vodka into the drink that he was sipping at the time. After that first taste, he couldn't get enough. Malik had started drinking more and more, but it had gotten really bad after he became legal and could actually buy the alcohol, instead of simply having to shoplift it whenever he could or buy it off of someone.

Leaning back onto his elbows, Malik drank deeply from the last bottle of beer that he had placed in his hiding place. Looking out the one grimy window that barely let in the neon lights that surrounded the area, Malik let out a soft growl, angry at himself for everything. If it wasn't for him, his entire family would still be alive, but instead, he was the one barely living, and the only people that ever really loved him were dead. His mother had died in childbirth with him, so it was his fault that she was dead. His father had been an abusive, insane man, but his siblings truly cared for him. Both Rishid and Isis had died trying to protect him from his father, but at least the man had died in the explosion the shotgun created as well.

Tossing the empty bottle aside, Malik shakily got up to his feet and started pacing slowly. He didn't normally do that, but tonight he had a lot of nervous energy that needed to be burned off. Wobbling slightly, Malik sat down on the chair that Shadi had occupied nearly an hour ago.

"What the hell…?" Malik grabbed his head, feeling shaky and sick, not at all like he usually felt when he went on a drinking binge. Normally he just got angry, and then eventually got tired and fell asleep. Getting sick was what would have happened when he first started drinking, but now he had gotten passed that part of being an alcoholic. His head was growing fuzzy, and he groaned softly. It was getting worse. His vision was getting blurry, and it was getting harder and harder to string two concision thoughts together. He grabbed his forehead and moaned in pain.

Crashing to the floor, Malik's last conscious thought was "What the fuck is happening?"

Shadi tapped the counter with his fingers, not only bored out of his skull, but worried about Malik, too. Usually after about spending an hour in the room, he would ring the buzzer and yell at Shadi to bring him some more beer, or just spend some time yelling at him. Excusing himself from behind the counter, he walked over to the back room, but stumbled back in shock when he saw the sight before him.

Malik was lying on the floor, surrounded by empty beer and liquor bottles. This hadn't happened in years. He never passed out, just simply fell asleep. Of course, Shadi would still have to watch him and make sure he didn't choke to death on vomit or just simply stop breathing. Shadi ran over and checked him over quickly. He was still breathing, so that was good, but he was cold and his eyelids were fluttering. Shadi quickly looked around the room, scanning around. There was only one man still in the bar, and he was simply watching the scene in amusement. He got up and walked over."If you don't mind, I can look him over. I'm a doctor, but I'm sure that this is an open-and-shut case of alcoholism."

Shadi sighed in relief and said "Yes, please."

The white-haired man chuckled softly. He kneeled down and examined Malik's face. The man nodded slightly after taking his pulse. "So, I assume that he drank too much and passed out. There's not much I can do for him, except sit him up and make sure that he doesn't choke to death on his own vomit. I'm really surprised that this hasn't happened before, considering how many times I've seen him here. That's really all I need to say about this situation." The man turned around and started to leave the room, but he paused when he heard Malik moan softly and turn around on the mattress.

"Wh-what….what happened?" Malik sat up, holding his head in his hands. He looked up to see Shadi and a strange man he didn't know standing over him, scrutinizing his every movement.

"Malik, you're awake. I was worried about you." Shadi said relieved, holding a hand over his chest, breathing softly. The other man, however, simply glared at Malik as if he hated him, which Malik thought was highly possible.

"It's good that you're not dead, young man. But it's obvious that you have some issues that need to be taken care of." The doctor squatted down next to Malik, sizing him up. Grinning slightly, almost sadistically, he handed him a small card with the words 'Bakura Yami, Doctor of Medicine'. "Feel free to come by my clinic tomorrow, and I'll, uh, give you a check-up personally."

Malik grabbed the card, glaring at the man supposedly called Bakura, and laughed sarcastically. "Yeah sure, I'll make sure to do that, 'Doctor'. I simply can't wait." He stood up shakily, his hands on his knees, glaring at the both of them as best he could. "I'm leaving, Shadi. I probably won't be over here for a while since you two seem to care so much for my well-being."

As he walked out the door, Malik stumbled slightly, causing Bakura to lean over and catch him. Bakura laughed softly, "I don't think you should be walking home by yourself, young man. I'll walk with you."

"My name is Malik Ishtar, not young man! And I don't need you walking me home!" Malik pushed him away, but stumbled again into Bakura's arms, making the white haired man laugh evilly, and pull him back up again.

"I'm walking you home, Malik, and that's final." Bakura said dragging Malik out of the door; despite his many complaints and protests. Arriving at his apartment about twenty minutes later (it took longer than usual because Malik was yelling and trying to hit him the entire time), Bakura slammed open the door, and pushed Malik onto the couch.

"What the fuck is your problem, whitey?! You don't just drag people home and then push them onto a couch like you're gonna rape them! Get the fuck away from me!" Malik threw a throw pillow at him. His aim was quite off because of the alcohol and went way wide of where Bakura was standing.

"You need some sleep, young man, so I suggest you get some. Your body is going to be hurting in the morning. From a hangover, I mean." Bakura winked at him, flipping on the light switch. "I'll stay here until you fall asleep, and then slip the key under the door when I leave. Is that okay with you, Malik?" He grinned, folding his arms, staring at Malik.

Malik groaned softly, saying "Yeah, why not. Just don't try anything, fucker. I swear, if you do, I'll rip off your balls and stuff them up your ass." He lay back on the couch, closing his eyes and sighing softly. Bakura laughed softly, flipping off the lights, and sat down, staring at Malik breathe softly.

After Malik had fallen asleep, Bakura decided to look around the apartment a little. It was incredibly tiny, just one bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room. There weren't many possessions around, some basic furniture, but hardly any personal effects. Walking into the bedroom, the doctor noticed there were some framed photographs sitting on the dresser. There was one of a man and a woman, whom Bakura presumed to be his parents, and a family photo, minus the woman.

Malik's family looked, to Bakura, to be very tense. The father glared at the camera, the older boy was smiling slightly, and the girl had Malik sitting on her lap, smiling the best she could. Malik looked happy, maybe it had been the last time he was happy. Setting the photo down, Bakura looked in his dresser. Only a few sparse clothes and some gold jewelery were in the drawers, and some empty bottles of whiskey. Bakura shook his head and then walked out, and walked into the kitchen. Not surprisingly, there was more alcohol than food, but most of the bottles were empty, and most of the food was stale. The small apartment was depressing, and made Bakura laugh slightly. This was the kid he was supposedly after? He shouldn't even bother. He'd be dead soon if he kept up the life he was living, anyway.

Bakura shook his head, and then took out his cellphone from his pocket. Might as well check if this was the guy he was looking for. It wouldn't be that great if he murdered some random kid. He snapped a photo of Malik's sleeping face, and then grabbed a piece of paper from his pocket and a pen. Thinking for a little bit, he eventually smirked, and then scribbled down a message to Malik. Might as well get in good before doing what he had to do. He also decided to find out the kid's number. It might be handy to be able to get into contact with Malik if he needed to. In fact, he should call him the next day to call about the appointment. He grabbed the flip phone out of the Egyptian's jacket pocket and found his number saved. Bakura saved it into his contacts quickly, and then dropped the note onto the coffee table next to the sleeping man.

Bakura lightly dragged his fingers over Malik's face, and watched as the other man twitched and moaned lightly in response. His face seemed so different in sleep, so much more innocent. He truly looked his age of twenty-five in this state, maybe even younger. It was possible that he could change his life around, but with what Bakura was ordered to do, he wouldn't be alive much longer. Malik probably should have been killed by now, in theory, but Bakura liked to find out who would investigate this death. He was already suspected for another murder...but they couldn't do anything without proof. It was better safe than sorry.

Bakura walked out of the apartment, shaking his head in disbelief. He was killing this kid for his looks alone, but he had no choice. Malik wasn't hurting anybody but himself, but Mariku wanted him dead. And Bakura couldn't go against him, not if he wanted what he wanted. He slid the key under the door as he promised, and then walked off shaking his head. Killing Malik Ishtar was going to be a lot harder than it should. He pulled out his phone and made a call.

"This is Yami. Yeah, no. I want out."

**Okay, so this is a re-vamp of an old story, which I promise to update this one and actually have the plot planned out to keep the story going!**


	2. Chapter 2: The Scars That Never Fade

Disclaimer: Hmmm….I still don't own Yu-Gi-Oh, last time I checked.

Chapter Two

* * *

The next day, Malik woke up with a gigantic headache. Grabbing his head in his hands, he leaned over the side of the couch, groaning. He didn't remember much of the previous night, just getting super drunk and then meeting some random dude who had white hair and claimed he was a doctor. Not the best thing to wake up to, but that tended to happen to him. Sighing, he sat up, still holding his head and stumbled into his kitchen. He started a pot of coffee, hoping that the highly caffeinated beverage could help to clear up the pain that was pounding somewhere behind his right eye. Malik also decided that taking some aspirin might help with things as well. The hangover afterward was the only bad part of drinking, really. The rest was pretty much good to him.

Pouring himself a cup of coffee, Malik added a bit of whiskey to it and then started sipping on it, staring at a hole in the wall. As far as he could recall, he had punched it in one day when he was in a drunken rage. The apartment was riddled with cracks and imperfections that he had created. Whenever Shadi was over he would try to fix some of them, and would succeed, but Malik would just create more later. Grimacing slightly, he set his cup down, and rested his chin on his fist, glaring at the entire apartment. It was the same as ever, cracked, and dilapidated; the only difference being a folded piece of paper on his coffee table that Malik had missed before. Walking over to the table, Malik unfolded the piece of paper, only vaguely interested in what it had to say.

The page was very simple, with only a few words inscribed upon it. In a scribbled, messy script, the letter said 'Hello, Malik. Do you remember me from last night? If not, then my name is Bakura Yami, the doctor who helped you last night. I'd really love it if you could come down to my clinic today.' The address was written beneath the message, with his scrawled signature beneath it.

Malik glared at the letter, extremely annoyed. He didn't need help from a doctor, let alone one as creepy as this Bakura guy. Crumbling the paper into a little ball, Malik threw it at the trash can, superbly angry at people right now. He jumped slightly when his cell phone rang, not used to having anyone call him, since no one but Shadi and the people he worked with had his number. Picking it up, Malik simply glared at his phone, not saying a word.

"Um, hello, is, uh, is anyone there?" a timid male voice spoke into the phone. "Is a Mr. Malik Ishtar at this number?"

"That depends on who's asking." Malik spat into the phone, hearing the voice on the other side breathe in softly, surprised by the answer.

"The doctor told me to call this number to confirm an appointment….? I'm Ryou Hikari, a nurse from Dr. Bakura's clinic." The young man on the other side of the line breathed softly, waiting for a response to his statement.

Malik froze for a second, shocked beyond belief. This crazy doctor had somehow gotten his number, and was now sending his nurses after him. He had most likely gone through his phone while he was passed out last night. Apparently the fucker had no sense of personal privacy whatsoever. Gaining his composure slightly, Malik replied, "I don't believe I set up an appointment with him, so tell that to the doctor." He was about to hang up when the male nurse spoke again.

"I just told him that, and he said that you agreed to one last night when he was walking you home, apparently. I can put him on the phone...if you want." The boy's voice faltered slightly at the end of the second sentence, the semi-question teetering on the tip of his tongue.

Malik groaned, hating himself at that moment. He vaguely recalled the white-haired individual asking him a bunch of questions while he was dragging Malik home, so he had probably asked him about an appointment, and Malik had most likely agreed to just to shut Bakura up. Groaning at the ceiling, he sighed and then spoke into the phone, saying, "I do remember that now, I'll be over there in about fifteen minutes." He hung up the phone angrily, and stormed over to where the note had been thrown. It hadn't landed in its original destination, the trash can, but it had landed close. Malik picked it up and then shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans. At least his wallet was still there. Grabbing his leather jacket that was balled up in the corner of his living room and his keys from the floor, Malik slipped it on quickly and then left his apartment, slamming and locking the door behind him angrily, muttering to himself about psycho stalkers, and got onto his motorcycle, not bothering with a helmet anymore. And then he groaned. He forgot the damn aspirin.

Driving to the address that had been given to him the previous night on Bakura's card and on the piece of paper this morning, Malik pulled up in front of the building, which was situated in a ritzy part of the city that he had never been in before. Staring at it in disbelief, he walked inside slowly, wondering if this was really the place he was supposed to be. Pushing open the door to the office marked "Doctor's Clinic", Malik was greeted by an attractive blonde woman sitting at the front desk. Looking up at him, she sighed softly and looked at him with apparent disgust. "Are you Malik Ishtar?"

Glaring at her, he replied, "Yes, I am. What's it to you, lady? Or is it just an excuse for you to act like a bitch?"

She shrugged, examining her nails and responded, "I'm Mai Kujaku, the secretary for Bakura Yami. Now sign in, sit down, shut up, and wait for the nurse to call you in."

He did as she asked, not wanting to bother with her anymore, annoyed at the way he was being treated. Looking around, Malik groaned inwardly at the fancy things that surrounded him. If anything pissed him off more than anything else, it would be rich people; and this doctor seemed to be fucking rich.

Malik looked up as a seemingly timid boy walked up to him and spoke. "Hello, I'm Ryou Hikari…the nurse who called you earlier. I can take you in now."

Glaring at him, Malik spat back, "I don't even know why I'm here, much less why you want me to be here, so just lead me to where I need to be and then let me live my fucking life as I want to live it.

The nurse stepped back a little surprised, but led Malik to the patient area nonetheless. Malik glared at him the entire time, not trusting anyone or anything that was here. The nurse stood next to a scale and said politely "Please take off your shoes and step on the scale, sir." Malik was about to yell at the kid when he noticed a white-haired male standing behind a corner and smirking lightly at him. Rolling his eyes, Malik did what he was told, and then was led to a small room.

Looking at Malik, the boy named Ryou smiled nervously and walked out saying "The doctor will be with you shortly, please wait until he can see you." Malik sat on a chair, and pulled out a flask, taking a hearty swig. Forget slightly tipsy, Malik needed to be full-on drunk before he could deal with the shit that was happening. Malik barely glanced up as the door opened; he knew who it was, and he sure as hell didn't want to deal with any fucking queers right now.

The doctor was the first one to talk, saying "Ah, Mr. Ishtar, I'm afraid that I don't allow drinking in my clinic, if you'd be so kind as to put that away." Malik merely glared up at him and took another drink, mumbling something about how he could do 'whatever the hell he wanted to'. The next thing he knew, the flask was out of his hand and in Bakura's, who placed the small metal canister in his lab-coat pocket. "I said, Mr. Ishtar, there will be no drinking in my office, so unless you want this back, I would suggest you keep your attitude and drinking problem in check."

Malik growled slightly, but did as he was asked. He did want his flask back, and maybe he could steal the doctor's wallet while he was getting his booze back. Bakura noticed his plans from the slight way his expression of annoyance changed into a smirk, but just shook his head slightly and continued checking the Egyptian man's blood pressure and temperature. After a couple of minutes, he stood away from Malik, folding his arms, and said "I need to ask you some questions about your health and family health history before I can really do anything about anything." Malik just widened his eyes and glared at him, "Hell no."

Bakura laughed slightly, expecting the man to object to answering his questions. "Malik, I need to get a small glimpse at why you're the way you are. The answer might lie in your family history." Malik's glare lessened slightly, but still held its place. He threw his hands up in the air eventually, obviously exasperated..

"Alright, you win. I'll answer your fucking questions. Just get this over with. I actually have to work tonight, if that surprises you." He looked at Bakura both angrily and expectantly, and the doctor smirked slightly.

"Alright, then. Let's start with basic information. Full name, age, place of birth, and names of family members." Malik raised one eyebrow.

"Malik Seth Ishtar. Twenty-five, born in Cairo, Egypt. My father's name is Hafiz Ishtar, my mother's is Jazira Ishtar, and my sister is named Isis Ishtar. My adopted brother is named Rishid Ishtar." The doctor nodded and took some notes.

"Okay...now, tell me any health problems of family members that you know of. Keep it simple; I obviously don't expect you to know every single problem that every single family member has had. Oh, I also want you to include psychiatric issues." Bakura said, looking at Malik. The blonde-haired man looked down sadly.

"My father was a heavy drinker, too. I think he had bi-polar disorder, and maybe split-personality. Nothing was ever diagnosed, we never went to doctors. Physically, he was fine, I think. I think my mother was healthy, too, but she died in childbirth with me. My sister was just depressed, but that was because of the burdens she had. But what does that all matter? They're all dead now." He said softly, causing Bakura to glance up slightly at him.

"If you don't mind me asking, how did they die?" Bakura asked him softly. Malik smiled cynically.

"My father went insane one day. Strapped me down to a table and started slashing my back with hot knives. My sister and brother ran in and released the bindings, and told me to run. So I did. I ran into my room, and I just heard my sister screaming for my dad to put the shotgun down. I did what any kid would do. I hid under my bed. He shot it, but it missed hitting anyone. It hit a gas-line in the wall instead. Blew up most of the house. If I hadn't been under that bed, I'd be dead. I still have the scars from those knife slashes to this day. I guess..." He glanced up quickly, looking angry and confused. "Wait, why am I even telling you these things?! I don't even know you! Fuck this!" He stood up quickly, shoving the chair to the ground, and stormed towards the door. He didn't get that far, however, for Bakura stood in his path, effectively blocking the door.

"Malik, it's important that you deal with all of this trauma. You obviously have major issues that you need to work out. If you don't, you'll probably drink yourself to death. And as a doctor, I can't step back knowing about this, and let you do this. Alright?" The doctor said simply, making the other man purse his lips tightly, almost prudishly. Malik opened his mouth and spoke candidly.

"Honestly, I have no desire to deal with my shit. It's the past. And I also don't feel like stopping. If I die, that's fine with me. I've thought about ending it before. Better alcohol than a bullet to the brain, right? Now, move away from the damn door before I have to move you myself." He crossed his arms, and glared at the white-haired man, who was just smirking lightly.

"No thanks. Like I said, you need professional help. And while I'm not a psychiatric doctor, I can help you with some of your issues." Bakura was about to continue when his phone started ringing. He glanced at the number quickly and then held up a finger. "Ah, excuse me. I have to take this." He lightly tapped the screen to answer the call.

"This is Yami." He sat down and listened to the person on the other line. He glanced quickly at Malik and then spoke again. "Yes. No. I don't think so. Listen, I can't really talk right now." He glanced at Malik again, this time his eyes lingered, though. "I have a patient. Oh, you have that for me? Perfect. I'll be over there tonight." He paused for quite a long while, listening to what sounded to be a man. "That's not true. I told you that last time." Another quicker pause. "Yeah, I really have to go. Alright. See you later." He tapped the screen once more to end the call and then turned his gaze towards Malik again.

"Well, Mr. Ishtar, I am afraid that there is not much I can do for you. Alcoholism is a psychiatric condition, not a medical one, suffice it to say. And I can highly infer that you don't have any type of insurance." Malik gritted his teeth slightly, and glared at the wall.

"Whatever. Listen, _Doctor_, I need to leave. I have to get to my job. So just send me a bill or something, I can try to pay it. Just leave me alone after that." He stormed out of the office, closely followed by an amused Bakura. The male nurse, the white haired one looked up as the pair crossed his path. Malik paused as Ryou engaged Bakura in a hushed but urgent conversation. Neither of them realized it however, so Malik continued standing there, eavesdropping.

"Bakura..." the nurse started, "I don't have enough money...do you mind lending me some? Just about twenty...I promise I'll pay you back." Bakura shook his head slightly.

"I'm stopping by there tonight. I'll pick it up for you. Don't worry, I'll pay for it." Bakura said quietly. He leaned in more and whispered something to Ryou, his fingertips lightly brushing the younger man's waist. He pulled away again as Ryou nodded.

"I'll drop it off at your apartment tomorrow. I need the clinic closed anyway. I have some other business to take care of." Bakura said in a regular tone, glancing back at Malik. The Egyptian adopted a look of innocence and continued on his way outside, and his heart sank as he saw that the tires on his motorcycle were slashed. He swore loudly and kicked the curb. This type of shit just always had to happen to him, didn't it? He turned around and glared at Bakura who had walked up behind him.

"The hell do you want? I don't have enough fucking money to pay to get my bike towed or get the tires fixed. And this happened on your damn property!" He kicked the curb once more, and glared up at Bakura when he chuckled softly.

"Alright, Mr. Ishtar, calm down. I can drive you to your workplace and pay for the tow service and tires. I feel somewhat responsible. Just calm down." Malik did calm down slightly, and looked at Bakura.

"Thanks...I guess. Which one's your car?" He asked, and Bakura answered by pointing at a black sports car. Malik quickly slid in the passenger side, mumbling angrily about 'rich bastards'. Bakura snickered quietly as he slid into the driver's side. He started up the car and took off smoothly

"Where do you work?" Bakura asked, looking briefly over at Malik before looking back at the road.

"It's Domino Bike Shop, just up ahead on 75th Street." Malik answered. "Have my bike towed there, I can fix it if you pay for the parts." Bakura nodded and turned onto the street. Malik flipped the radio on to fill the uncomfortable silence, settling on an indie music station. The drive was only about ten minutes more, however, it felt longer.

At long last, they arrived at Malik's workplace, and Bakura stopped the car. Malik, instead of exiting the car, turned and looked at the doctor.

"Hey...thanks for the ride. You're not the stuck-up bastard I thought you were. If you uh, want to help me sometime...with my issues, you know where I live." Malik mumbled out, a faint blush on his cheeks. Bakura looked at him in shock, but recovered his composure and smirked as the Egyptian was quickly exiting the car.

"I think I may, Malik Ishtar. I may." Bakura said out loud, and then sped away, heading off to the one place in the world he shouldn't be.

* * *

Author's Note: All right, I want to explain some things about this chapter. If any of you are confused as to why Malik put some whiskey in his coffee, that's called 'the hair of the dog'. Surprisingly, one of the best cures for hangovers is more alcohol! Not a lot, but just a bit. The original phrase is 'the hair of the dog that bit me', which means putting something in your body that hurt you. So since the alcohol hurt you, put a bit of it in your body.

Malik's mom and dad's names are not just some random letters I came up with in my sleep. They actually have meaning in Arabic. Hafiz means 'father', and Jazira means 'mother'. Simple, but it's better than having them completely nameless. I mean, they're not even named in the manga! I did not actually come up with those names, though. One of my friends did, so I can actually take no credit for that one. So if you want to praise me, don't. I do not deserve such kind words.

About Malik's scars. They're not the beautiful, tattoo looking ones he has in the manga and anime. If you look in volume nineteen of Yu-Gi-Oh!: Duelist, at Chapter 173, it's more like the scars that Malik's dad is giving Rishid. I wanted to put scars on his back in this fic, but I didn't want some confusing, vague story about why a guy would give his kid intricate, Egyptian scars for apparently no reason in a story based in a more realistic environment. Therefore, I just decided to make them regular knife scars. However, Malik does not have as many as Rishid does. Probably just a couple, because his siblings stopped it before anything seriously bad happened.

Remember, reviews are a happy thing. They let me know my writing isn't a piece of shit. So review away! Click that button! Type on those keys! Make me happy!


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